"I see." Jack thought, It shouldn't be this hard for a P.I… to make a living. Maybe I should open a dating and escort service. Take Miro 's overflow. Call it Deflections.

"Please, Jack," Susan said earnestly. "We really need your help. Dad told me about the secret lab-those kids are working for the government. I changed my mind. If Professor Nichols came out here that means something is definitely wrong. You've got to help us."

Jack could feel himself falling for it but he said, "I'm gonna need more than that."

"Here." She took off some rings and her watch.

"Honey, that's your graduation watch," Herman said sadly.

Jack thought, This can't be happening. "I don't take used jewelry," he said, retreating deeper into the guest house.

"Will you help us? Please? We'll figure something out about the money," Susan said.

"Do you have a cell phone?"

She nodded and handed him one. "But I don't think it's worth much."

"No-not for payment. For communication. Look, I'm gonna go back outside. Herm, I need you to go with me. We'll be back in about an hour. Take your cell phone, get in Barbra's car and pull out.

"Why?" he asked.

"I want you to lead Paul Nichols up into the hills. There's a road off Malibu Canyon I know about. We did a crystal drug bust up there when I was a cop. Buncha bikers. It's nice and empty. There's a clearing with a baseball diamond. I'll give you directions, talk you in using the cell. You drive up there. Paul follows you, I follow Paul."

"What am I supposed to do?" Susan said.

"Call downtown and get us a parade permit."

"Funny," she snapped.

"What's your plan?" Herm persisted.

"Once we get him up there I'm gonna pull his scrawny ass out of that blue Chevelle and beat some answers outta him. Like Susan said, something is definitely wrong here."

Jack slid back into his Fairlane, then used Susan's phone to call Herman inside the house. "Okay, I'm set. He's still parked out here. Get in the Mercedes and head up to Malibu Canyon Road."

"Okay," Herman replied. "But Susan just decided she wants to go."

"You tell Susan if I see her in that car I'm turning around and going home."

He heard a muffled conversation as Herman and Susan argued about it, then Susan was in his ear, buzzing like an angry hornet: "I'm not going to be left behind like somebody's little sister."

"I know you have an extensive background in law enforcement, Ms. Strockmire, but let me stress this, and I'll say it slowly, so even you can understand…"

Why was he being such an asshole? Was it because he couldn't control her? Was this why he had had such a string of uninspiring relationships?

"Ms. Strockmire," he continued with exaggerated politeness. "It is always a bad idea to have all your assets stacked up in one place. You're rear guard-a position usually assigned to the most dangerous motherfucker in the outfit, which, without a doubt, is you."

"Now you're really going over the top."

"Do I have your word on this? Otherwise, I'm going home."

"Dad's coming out," she hissed. "But Wirta… if anything happens to him, I'm coming after you."

"Your challenge. So, I get to pick time and choice of weapons. How 'bout midnight, with thongs and nipple clips."

"What an asshole!" she said, but he heard her laugh as she hung up.

Ten minutes later Herman lumbered out, climbed into the silver Mercedes, and backed out of the driveway. Jack watched in amazement as Paul Nichols actually turned on his headlights, hung a U-turn and followed.

Jack dialed Herman's cell phone. When he picked up: "Herm, he's behind you."

"How could I miss him?" Herman wheezed sarcastically. "He's got his high beams on."

"Okay, listen: Take Malibu Canyon Road up about two miles. Just before the tunnel there's a dirt road on the left with a wooden gate. It's always unlocked. You don't have to get out, you can butt it with your bumper and it'll swing open. Drive up the road and take the first fork. You getting this?"

"Yeah, take the first fork. Then what?"

"Keep going until you get to a meadow. It's up on top of the hill. There's a sports field up there. A little baseball diamond, a track, some volleyball nets. Pull across and park by the dugout, then wait."

"Okay."

Jack hung up and dialed Shane Scully, his ex-partner.

"Hello," the dark-haired cop answered.

"Shane, it's me."

"Me? Would that be L.A. 's newest gumshoe? How's the office? You set up yet?"

"We've already had our first robbery, our first client, and I'm on our first stakeout… just like Magnum, only without the Ferrari."

"Whatta you need?" Shane asked.

"Can you find out who owns the residence at 2352 North Canon Drive in Beverly Hills? A guy named Paul Nichols lives there, but I want to know if he owns the place, is a guest, or what?"

"Any reason to think he doesn't own it?"

"It's big, maybe worth four or five mil, but Paul drives a cheesebox with wheels so I have my doubts. Run the address through county records for me. There's a cold beer in it for you."

"Done."

Herman turned left off Malibu Canyon Road and followed a small dirt drive to the wood fence. He nudged the gate open with his bumper as Jack had instructed. It swung wide. He saw the blue Chevelle pulling in behind him.

Herman was feeling very alive. His heart rate was steady, and when he checked his pulse it was up around 92-not arrhythmia-excitement. It made him feel more energized than he had in weeks. But he was glad he had Jack Wirta back there for protection.

The baseball diamond came up on the right. He pulled across the outfield, then parked near the batting cage and turned off the headlights. In his rearview mirror he watched the blue Chevelle pull up onto the field and stop thirty or forty yards behind him with the headlights off. His cell phone rang again and he picked it up. "Yeah?"

"He up there?" Wirta asked.

"Yep. Parked in the outfield."

"Okay. Get out and walk slowly toward him."

"Do what?"

"Don't worry, I just need you for a diversion. I'm twenty yards down the road. I'm gonna move in on foot. I'll take him before you get to him."

"Okay."

Herman hoped his heart didn't spin out on him. He took his pulse again: 98-still in the high-normal range. He got out of the car and began to walk slowly toward the blue Chevelle. It was strange how exhilarated he felt. He was actually enjoying this.

When he was about fifty feet from the car, he heard somebody yell: "Hey! Hey, whatta you doing? Stop it!" And he knew Jack had made his move.

Herman lumbered up as fast as he could without running, and when he arrived at the Chevelle he found that Jack Wirta had Professor Nichols face down on the ground, handcuffing him.

"You'd better unhook these if you know what's good for you," Nichols demanded.

"If I knew what was good for me I wouldn't be driving a Fairlane and working these hours. Why don't you tell me why you're following Herman Strockmire?" Jack pulled him into a sitting position.

"None of your fucking business!" Nichols's forehead was wet and he had a little damp grass stuck to his bullshit Vandyke.

Then all hell broke loose.

It started with a whispering sound that brought a wind with it, bending the long grass around the baseball diamond. Herman looked up and saw a huge helicopter, unlike anything he'd ever seen before. It had a sort of stealth configuration and was extremely quiet as it hovered over them. He glimpsed the underbelly and part of the nose for only a second before a huge xenon light snapped on, blinding him.

"Stand where you are! Put your hands in the air!" a bullhorn blared down at them.